After having an unfruitful discussion about how exactly Ghede had come to be an undertaker in this underground labyrinth—a place Ghede refers to as “the inverted city”—Joe and Ghede make their way through the corridor of pipes, Joe discovering that many smaller corridors, also filled to the brim with pipes, branch off from the main one they currently moved through, although Ghede assures him that there are larger tunnels. The only thing of note that Ghede had mentioned about his “position” was that he collected bodies to be incinerated, and that somewhere in this dark maze was a furnace. That Joe had asked to be shown, and Ghede complied mentioning that the furnace is always on his way, since they would likely find some poor soul to be disposed of as they went.

Ghede leads the pair through the corridors, cobwebs woven into the intricate pipe works, gathering copious amounts of dust. Prodding with his pole and raising his head to sniff the air with his rodent nose hear and there, Ghede shuffles along, Joe close behind. Ghede not only appears to know the area well, but Joe surmises that his sense of smell must be impressive for all Joe can smell is a miasma of rot, like a basement used to store things that no one really wants anymore and that occasionally floods. It is the smell of deterioration and age. Ghede even manages to avoid the pit traps of puddles dotting their path, geometric holes where bricks have been removed from the floor, and Joe imagines that can’t be due to a keen sense of smell, but just habit; Ghede had been walking these corridors for a long time.

“Walt—” Joe begins.

“Poor soul,” murmurs Ghede.

“Really? Why?”

“I don’t think he’s really supposed to be down here.”

“How do you know that?”

Ghede stops, smells, then turns to Joe, “Well, for starters, he’s always drawing those infernal maps. Why draw a map if you’ve got nowhere to go?” He leans on his pole for a moment, stares through his black, glass circles, even though the question seems to be rhetorical.

“The thing is, I saw Walt once before… up… well, on the surface.”

“You did?” Ghede seems genuinely curious.

“Yes. And he seemed to know some things—things about me even.”

“I doubt it. He’s as mad as a lark, that one.”

“Well, yeah. He didn’t remember who I was when I ran into him hear.”

“I don’t doubt it. He’s trapped, I think, between both places. Up there, he likely has as little idea about being down here, as he has down here about being up there.” Ghede shrugs, “It’s a wonder how he got that way.” Ghede turns to go and then stops one more time to add, “And I suppose it’s why she wants nothing to do with him.”

“Who?”

Turning to continue, Ghede says, “The painted lady.”

“…Who?”

“Well, painted is putting it politely; more like covered in mud and grease.”

“Wait.” Joe reaches out to touch Ghede’s shoulder in spite of himself. “There’s a woman down here who’s covered in mud and grease?”

Ghede stops again and turns. “Certainly there is.”

“Does she wear a yellow dress?”

Ghede leans on his staff, “How is it that you don’t even know where you are, and yet you know who the Painted Lady is?”

Joe looks around, wondering indeed where he is, and then answers, “I think she brought me here.”

Ghede smiles, his teeth black, brown and angular, “Lucky you.”

Read the whole thread: The Hunger Engine

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